


To Reach Tranquility

by Hiraeth1027



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geraskier as parents, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, The Coast, baby ciri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:08:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiraeth1027/pseuds/Hiraeth1027
Summary: Peaceful moments were a privilege when raising an infant child.Geralt quietly got up as Jaskier stirred. "Mm .. Ger'lt? S'my turn t'get Ciri in'it?" The bard's slurred words transitioned into a yawn and the Witcher allowed the small smile already present on his face to grow as his love slowly lifted his head. If he was coherent enough to process the impressive state of his hair, well .. that would certainly be a sight to see."No. Go back to sleep, Jask. I've got her."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 135





	To Reach Tranquility

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first actual published work for the Witcher, so please go easy on me. It is a birthday gift for a friend, but the world deserves more soft between the witcher and his bard, even if it is short and sweet.

The Witcher woke seconds before the first whimper reached his ears. He was attuned to his infant daughter’s needs, even in sleep. As Geralt slowly blinked his eyes open, his vision was quick to adjust to the darkness that consumed the room, a quiet and tired groan escaping his lips before his brain could process. Ciri’s cries began to fill the cottage and chase away the last of the blissful silence as the white wolf slowly eased himself up into a sitting position, reaching up to massage his neck as he stole a glance to the form resting beside him.

Jaskier was beautiful when he slept. He was beautiful all the time but seeing the bard look so peaceful and serene always put Geralt at ease, it filled his chest with an indescribable warmth and made his heart flutter once or twice. He couldn’t resist tucking a loose strand of hair away from his husband’s face, a small but fond smile tugging at his lips as he listened to Jaskier’s soft snores.  
(“Oh, for the last time Geralt, I do _not_ snore, how rude!”)

Peaceful moments were a privilege when raising an infant child.

Geralt quietly got up as Jaskier stirred. "Mm .. Ger'lt? S'my turn t'get Ciri in'it?" The bard's slurred words transitioned into a yawn and the Witcher allowed the small smile already present on his face to grow as his love slowly lifted his head. If he was coherent enough to process the impressive state of his hair, well .. that would certainly be a sight to see.

"No. Go back to sleep, Jask. I've got her."

He placed a gentle kiss on Jaskier's temple before silently leaving the room and heading just across the dark hall to his daughter's room. Upon entering, the infant's sharp cries assaulted Geralt's ears, as piercing as usual, thankfully he had long since adjusted and adapted. Enhanced hearing with a babe so young was useful, but rarely was it pleasant. Ciri's face was bunched up, her eyes were closed, and the way tears flowed down her little face made Geralt's chest tighten; one thing was for sure: seeing his daughter in such a state saddened him.

He began to gently shush her as he lifted her from her cradle, securing her in his arms and allowing one of her tiny hands to grasp his finger.

"Cirilla .."

Geralt rumbled quietly as he observed the way his daughter's small hand stretched around his finger, incapable of wrapping around it completely, that tiny yet fond smile refused to leave his lips as he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Ciri's forehead. The babe's cries gradually subsided as her father began to sway gently, listening to the soft patter of the rain against the roof and windows of the very home he and Jaskier had built over the years. He remembered the look of awe on his bard's face as Geralt presented to him the cottage that he had been saving up to buy for months, taking contract after contract to ensure that he would be able to give this to Jaskier.

Jaskier had wanted to live on the coast. Who was Geralt to deny him his dream when the poet had dedicated years of his short life to him without question? Jaskier, who had never failed to return to him, who tended to his wounds and held him, keeping him warm when the nights got cold.

The white haired Witcher had traveled along the Path for centuries, and now that he had a daughter and a husband to provide for, he truly had to take the time to stop and consider everything. The Path was no place for a child. It was no place for Jaskier, despite everything that he had endured at Geralt's side, said male didn't want him to have to face any more of the world's horror and cruelty than he had to. Jaskier deserved better.

Jaskier deserved the world.

Geralt failed to realize that he was gently humming one of Jaskier's songs to Ciri; said child had gone quiet, blinking up at him with rapt attention and a childlike wonder that left Geralt feeling an overwhelming, instinctual urge to protect her, to protect that innocence for as long as he could.

She cooed softly up at Geralt, dragging his finger to her mouth where she began to worry it between those toothless gums of hers. Geralt couldn't help the soft chuckle that left him as he allowed his child to do as she wished, he would do anything in his power to make sure she grew into a strong, beautiful woman who would take nothing from no man. She would be independent and fierce and capable of handling herself, but with enough love in her heart and an appreciation for the beautiful things in life that he had always failed to grasp, but hopefully Jaskier would weave the threads of such hopes into a tapestry of reality.

Speaking of Jaskier, said lark was leaning against the doorframe leading into Ciri's room, staring at the two halves of his soul with an adoration that would never lessen. The sound of Geralt's soft humming and quiet promises to give Ciri the world, accompanied by said child's babbling made his heart clench with a love that nearly reduced him to tears. Here was Geralt of Rivia, a Witcher whose hands had become calloused and rough from years of wielding a sword and charging into battle, be it against beast, man, or otherwise, cradling a new life and allowing Jaskier to witness the vulnerability, the kindness, and the true gentle nature that lied beneath a cold exterior. Just when he thought the love that he felt for Geralt had reached its full capacity within his heart …

Jaskier had never truly understood the world's burning hatred for the man before him. This was not a beast incapable of feeling any human emotion, created for the sole purpose of becoming one of the Continent's many killing machines, no, this was a man with a heart of gold and a gentle soul, who had given up his life on the Path for them just so he could provide for them and give them the life that they truly deserved. Geralt sacrificed so much for his family, and it was just another one of the many things that the bard adored about his darling Witcher.

The poet had been so distracted by the purity in something so simple as a man comforting his daughter that he didn't notice his husband's golden gaze on him until the lack of humming had registered within his mind.

"Jaskier .. what are you doing up? I told you I have her, you can sleep love."

The gentle, sleepy smile on Jaskier's face widened as he hummed in acknowledgement.

"Mm .. the bed is cold without you, my dear Witcher, and I couldn't ignore the cries of my sweet daughter, such a sound pains my very soul Geralt." Jaskier cooed as he stepped closer, drawing Ciri's attention. "Isn't that right, my little lion cub? Oh, you're absolutely precious, dear heart."

Ciri yawned and cooed softly in return, reaching her other hand up towards her dad, briefly getting distracted by her fingers and wiggling them curiously. Jaskier's heart swelled and he couldn't resist gently grasping her hand and kissing it. "You sweet thing .. Geralt, my white wolf, my love, may I?" Jaskier looked up at his husband as he spoke softly, cornflower blue gaze shining even in the darkness as thunder rumbled around them.

Geralt nodded wordlessly, content to allow his songbird to take his daughter from his arms and cradle her, but not without a kiss first. Jaskier laughed quietly as Ciri grunted; gods she was starting to sound like Geralt and she had yet to even reach a year. Oh no. Oh, no no no, he certainly would not allow Ciri to grow up without expressing any of his traits, no sir. He was distracted quickly enough by the way the infant refused to release Geralt's finger, if anything she seemed all the more determined to hold onto it.

The Witcher saw no issue with his current predicament, seeking only to bask in the presence of the two most important people in his world.

As Jaskier began to sing a soft lullaby to their daughter, Geralt slowly shifted (without making Ciri release her hold on his finger mind you), maneuvering his way behind Jaskier so he could wrap his arms around him and hold him and Ciri close. Jaskier smiled softly and leaned back into the strong chest of his muse, continuing to sing as Geralt pressed a soft kiss to his neck and rested his head on his shoulder to gaze upon their child with a love that, despite being reserved in that moment, knew no bounds when it came to the little girl in his bard's arms. Jaskier sang until Ciri's eyes slowly fluttered shut, grip on her father's finger gradually easing as sleep welcomed her into its warm embrace. Geralt had begun lightly swaying them somewhere in the middle of his song, he couldn't remember when, especially with how calming and safe it felt, to the point that his eyelids felt heavy.

Even then, the Witcher, his bard, and their daughter remained as they were, close and blanketed by a peace unlike any other they had ever experienced. When it was just the three of them, together like this, Geralt failed to find an ounce of regret in him in regards to discontinuing his long walk on the Path. It had treated him none too kindly, but it had been his purpose for a long time. Hunt and kill the monsters in the world, navigate through the sea of those who sought to conceal the monstrosities within themselves by creating new creatures with false origins and accusations. That was all that it was, and all that it needed to be. And yet, despite this fact, he had always felt like there was a hole in his old soul, something was missing. Hiraeth often whispered his name and ignited that insatiable desire within him to find what he was searching for, but did not know.

Jaskier and Ciri were his home; they were the pieces of his broken soul that had been returned to him even before he knew that it was broken in the first place. They had restored him and given him a new purpose, one that sought to cherish life and to appreciate the beauty of it. They had set a new Path for him.

A Path to Ataraxia.

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't initially planned, and mostly everything is subject to change if I can find the time and motivation to work it out. I'm still new to Ao3 in regards to publishing works and figuring everything out so if things seem a bit awkward and stiff, rest assured that I am trying to figure it all out.  
> Also don't be shy, do leave a comment if you feel like it, I will read them all. :)


End file.
